Chapter 4
Four
Kyron remains still beneath me. Not the blast, not the rubble crashing around us causes him to so much as to take a breath.
I hurry to my knees as soon as the falling debris quiets.
Crossing my hands over his chest, I press down on his sternum.
Not like this. He doesn’t get to leave me with unanswered questions.
He doesn’t get to slip into the ether, leaving me to wade through the mess he made.
With all my might, I press down over his heart again.
Not.
Fucking.
Like.
This.
Kyron bolts upright, his eyes wide as he gasps for air. His hand darts to the wood protruding from his shoulder. He wraps his fingers around it and winces.
Every tense muscle in my body goes slack, but before I fall back into the rubble, a meaty arm wraps around my waist, yanking me off the ground. I twist in the hold of one of Micah’s mammoth guards, trying to wiggle free until the frantic exchanges around me bring me to a halt.
“Allaji troops are raiding the city.”
“How did they get past the wall without us stopping them?”
“They’re shifters, you idiot. They could have entered as animals.”
“You’re saying we just let a tiger and bear through the gate?”
“Get the prince to the sanctuary’s safe room.”
I whip my head to the side at the sound of Micah’s order. He stares down at Kyron’s guard. The massive man ignores him as he pulls out the wood lodged into the prince’s shoulder and throws it to the ground.
My father rips the hem of his red tunic and presses it to the gaping wound. “It’s not life threatening, but he will need a healer.”
My heart constricts at the compassion in Papa’s eyes for the man he raised. Kyron could betray him a hundred times and burn down each of the five kingdoms, and my father’s love for him would not waver.
“Get your prince to safety. Your queen cannot afford to lose her new heir,” Micah spits.
“I’m fine. We need to find who did this,” Kyron hisses while his guard, Lance, helps him to his feet. He stands by himself for only a moment before his knees buckle.
“I’m not saying it again, man. Get the prince inside. And you, take Raelle with you,” Micah bellows to the nearest Lucent guard.
“What? No!” I slap the guard’s arm as he moves to gather me to his side. “Micah, I want to—”
The roar of a large cat rings out from the far side of the sanctuary, followed by several cries for help.
Flapping wings beat against the twilight sky and dozens of human sized birds crow from above us.
Horrific screams pierce my ears, and stomping feet rumble the ground.
Dread like I’ve never felt before grips me.
The king shoots me a steely gaze before turning to the dark-haired guard. “Use your gift to zap her if you have to, but she will go to that safe room.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he says, his thin lips a tight line behind his mustache. He moves to toss me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Don’t you dare,” I snarl, stepping out of his reach and looking back at our half-destroyed carriage. The backend where Zek was standing is mangled. Panic overwhelms me and pushes me forward. “Zek! Where’s Zek?” I scream.
The guard grabs my arm, pulling me back.
“Get her the fuck out of here. Now!” Micah’s booming voice sends the guard into action.
I’m guided away as I fight against the tight grip the guard has on me.
The need to run back doesn’t die down until we enter the sanctuary.
The holy place is quiet, other than the occasional sniffle from the members of the court huddled in the far corner.
The cowards know that it doesn’t matter what kingdom one comes from, if the shifters harm the building or the people inside, they will lose favor with the Statera.
But that doesn’t mean that the Allaji won’t force their way in and pull the Stigians out one by one.
My attention turns to Kyron. His good arm is draped over Lance’s shoulder, using his guard’s bulky frame to keep him upright. The shuffling of his feet tells me his body is on the brink of giving out on him.
Lance leads us down the dark corridors, the same ones my father and I took when we escaped this place months ago. He stops in the middle of the walkway and presses a small button hidden behind a sconce on the wall. A thick panel slides open to a small furnished room, and he helps Kyron to the bed.
“Thank you, Lance,” the prince mutters.
“It’s my privilege and duty, Your Grace,” the warrior replies. “It looks as if the bleeding is slowing. I will send a medic to you shortly.”
“Don’t worry about me. Go and defend our people.” Kyron falls against the mattress, clutching a bloody rag to his shoulder.
My guard keeps a close eye on his counterpart, waiting for the warrior to head for the exit. When he feels like the threat against me is less, he smiles and says, “Try not to kill the prince, Your Grace.”
I sigh and sink into a chair at the small round table in the middle of the room. “I’ll try.”
The door slides back into place with a click, and the room falls eerily quiet.
I fold my arms on the tabletop and rest my head on them, trying my hardest to ignore Kyron.
Being alone with him reminds me of the first time we met.
The tension was thick, and I was unsure what to say to win him over.
I remind myself that it’s not me who has to win him over anymore.
He is the one who broke my trust. However, the thought does little to cure my curiosity.
I spare him a glance and slowly raise my head to get a better look. Sweat beads on his forehead, and every breath he takes is purposeful, like he’s trying to avoid more pain. The color has drained from his lips, and he doesn’t appear able to focus his gaze.
“Kyron, are you all right?” I ask, trying my damnedest to not sound truly concerned.
“Even the littlest movement hurts. It’s like something is still stuck in my shoulder,” he says, gasping for air.
“Maybe a piece of the wood is still lodged inside you.”
“I don’t know, but I’m feeling sick.”
“Shit,” I mumble. If he is already catching a fever, this can’t be good.
I stand and rifle through the cabinets along the wall, looking for medical supplies.
Inside a drawer, I find a satchel of steel operating tools and bandages.
I move on to the top cupboards, shoving items of food to the side until I come upon a bottle of whiskey.
With my findings in hand, I join Kyron at his bedside.
“You’re going to need to sit up for a moment,” I say.
He does as I ask, and with slow, steady fingers, I release the golden buttons running down the front of his jacket. It’s such a mundane act, yet it feels very intimate, like the type of thing we shouldn’t be doing.
“This might hurt,” I warn, and slide the thick fabric over his shoulders and down his arms.
He hisses, and his face contorts in pain.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he pants.
“I’m not done. I need to remove your shirt too.”
He groans and lifts his arms above his head, and I pull off his tunic.
It takes everything in me not to stare at the hills and planes of his tan chest, or the tattoo that runs down his side in the ancient text of the Statera.
Even the Lucent and Stigian crests inked on his bicep try to catch my attention.
Battle scars litter his chest and back, and I miss the feeling of the imperfect skin against my palm.
My fingers tingle at just the thought of touching him.
I set aside his tunic, uncork the bottle of whiskey, and hand it to him. “You need to drink this.”
He takes a long swig, keeping his eyes on me. My skin prickles into goosebumps under his gaze. At the core of who I am, I’m compelled to react, but I stifle the longing. Turning away from him, I prepare the supplies I’ll need between us on the mattress.
When he pulls the bottle away from his lips with a pop, I grab it and take a long swig. Just a little liquid courage to get me through this.
Like I’m leaping off a building, I lift the bottle over Kyron’s shoulder and quickly say, “This is going to burn.” The contents drizzle onto his wound.
He jolts and clenches the blankets under him. “Fuck! You could have warned me, Raelle.”
“I did. And here’s another warning: it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” I sit on the very edge of the bed. Picking up the tweezers and his discarded tunic to absorb the blood, I set to work digging in the hole in his shoulder.
The torn tissue oozes with blood, dripping down his chest and onto the sheets.
He clenches his teeth and hisses a string of curses.
I continue to poke around inside his shoulder.
The resistance from the damaged tissue makes me cringe.
I wish this could wait for the medic, but only the Statera knows how long we will be in here.
I’m scared that if I don’t act now the wound will become infected.
The end of the tweezers hit something small and solid. “Hang in there, I almost got it,” I whisper and bite my lip as I try to get the slippery splinter between the pointed ends of the tool.
“Where did you learn to do this? It reminds me of something Ulric would do on the battlefield,” Kyron asks.
My heart constricts at the mention of the man who once bandaged me up after a sparring match.
The last time I saw Ulric and Terro was the day they rescued me and my father from the tunnel leading out of Stigian.
There were times at the Sibyl Temple when I questioned my choice to go there instead of Basecamp.
I missed them and the way things used to be.
“I haven’t seen Ulric or Terro for close to a year,” I say, pulling the sliver of wood from his arm and pressing his tunic to his shoulder.
“I took some time away from Lucent and spent a lot of it sparring and learning to control the Eporri. Needless to say, I had my fair share of mishaps in the beginning.”